


A Shrine by The Seaside

by OlmWorthy



Series: A Shrine by The Seaside [1]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Based on a Tumblr Post, Deity Qrow Branwen, Fair Game Week (RWBY), Fair Game Week 2020, M/M, Priest Clover Ebi, The God of Arepo, deity worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23159542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlmWorthy/pseuds/OlmWorthy
Summary: Clover builds a shrine with some help from his friends. A new-born Deity claims it as its own. How will they handle things?Written for Fair Game Week 2020. Daily chapters, 8 chapters in total (and starting one day early).
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: A Shrine by The Seaside [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725337
Comments: 54
Kudos: 89





	1. The Shrine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clover builds a shrine with the help of his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is my first RWBY fanfic, and the first chapter is short - more of a teaser chapter where I introduce the world and some of the people.
> 
> It is inspired by the story of Arepo that was written on Tumblr as a part of a two-sentence writing prompt.
> 
> This whole work is going to be intentionally vague with details - partially because English is not my first language, and partially because I want you to imagine your own details (and maybe tell me about them in the comments).
> 
> If you have any questions about anything, feel free to ask me!
> 
> And don't hesitate to leave comments!
> 
> EDIT: Now that the work is complete, if you have any questions, feel free to contact me via Discord. I'm OlmWorthy#4138 and my DMs are open as long as you're respectful.

The sea is calm, glowing in its fiery gleams of approaching sunset. The beach is littered with fishing nets, the catch of the day swaying in the breeze. A humble fishing village is nearby, and the boats ans boathouses are swaying slowly side to side. Torches are being lit on the pier and the fire is ready for the beacon on the nearby cliff.

A man’s grunt. A heavy rock clattering against rock.

“What do you think?” Clover Ebi grunts while stacking a heavy flat stone on top of another. A moment to catch his breath. He was at it for quite some time. “What kind of deity will claim this shrine for its own?”

“I hope it’s one of good fortune,” Harriet replies, passing him the next flat rock. “Our village could always use some.”

“Same,” Elm adds, passing her flat rock to Harriet.

“Peace,” Vine says in his usual contemplative voice, passing his rock to Elm.

“Peace?” Marrow barks. “Really, Vine?”

“Why not? We can never have enough of it.” Contemplating some more, he points out a rock for Marrow to pick up. It is much darker than the other ones, almost black compared to the white pale stones at the shrine.

“What we need …” Marrow grunts from the weight, turning more scarlet by the moment, “… is … a deity … of …”. Before his legs could give up on him, Vine picks it up from him and passes it on like it weighed noticeably less.

“Strength?” Vine offers, passing the rock forward.

“No.” Catching his breath, he proudly announces from the top of his lungs: “Bountiful fishing yields!”

That earned him laughter from everyone but Vine.

“That’s so typical of you, Marrow!” Elm chimes in, “to think about the food.”

“All the time!” Harriet teasingly adds.

“It’s not his fault that he’s still young and growing,” Clover argues after his chuckling dies down. Dropping the dark rock on the shrine, he asks: “How long have you been in our village, Marrow? Three Moons?”

“Four in three Suns, actually,” he replies, head hung low in mild embarrassment.

“And how long for the rest of you?”

“Born and raised like Harriet,” Elm states.

“About two Eleven-Moons apart.” Harriet adds.

“Ten Eleven-Moons, ten Moons,” Vine supplies. “And thirteen Suns. After mid-Sun.”

“We’ve all been living here much longer than Marrow,” Clover noted. “So it would be in the best interest of all of us to help him out until he can do these things on his own. Besides, from what I’ve seen, he is learning faster than any of you.”

Marrow’s tail was wagging from kind words.

“Now, let’s finish before the Sun ends,” Ebi suggests.

“Yes, Leader!” Marrow cheers, reaching for a rock. He picks it up with less effort now.

“I told you I don’t like being called that.”

“Sorry Lead- uhm, I mean, Clover!” He passes his rock to Vine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify some terms:
> 
> Sun = day  
> Moon = month  
> Eleven-Moon = year
> 
> Birth-of-Sun = sunrise, morning  
> Death-of-Sun = sunset, evening
> 
> This is just a feature of this world to make it feel like it is its own - I didn't go and calculate the calendar system, or anything like that.


	2. The Birth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Deity claims the shrine as its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, second chapter, on the first official day of FairGameWeek2020! Things are about to kick off! More subtle world-building!
> 
> If I have my way, I should be able to post everyday at 20:00 (aka 8:00 pm) CEST/GMT+1 and will try my best to stick to it.

The shrine is standing for ten Suns now. Humble, but sturdy, with a great view of the sunrise and the sunset on the beach.  _'A shrine with a view that any deity would be lucky to have'_ , Clover thinks when he’s paying a visit in the middle of the Sun. Bringing his usual offerings - incense and a fish from his catch that Sun - and leaving them on the altar, he closes his eyes and sings the daily prayer for an unclaimed shrine. The rough translation from the Old Words being:

_“May the offerings I brought invite a Deity to this shrine._

_May the fish I caught, and offer now freely, give them strength._

_May the incense, bought with my labor, keep the shrine pure._

_May the shrine become their home among us.”_

At the end of the prayer, Clover invokes a line of his own:

_“The only thing I ask of you is to see you with my own eyes.”_

Clover’s tenth prayer since the shrine was built. No sign of any deity claiming it. _'_ _Time for contemplation_ _in silence_ _,_ _'_ he thinks to himself. Closing his eyes and letting his thoughts flow like a river.

His mind drifts to shrine’s Suns three and eight. His tight-knit group of friends gathered in the short prayer lead by Vine. At the time, Clover decided to leave his verse out and let his friend take the lead. Even though only Vine would understand the Old Words - _‘He_ _did teach me, after all,’_ Clover thought at the time - the others followed along in polite silence. He decided to keep his verse for when he prays alone at the shrine.

He feels the air around him turn colder. _‘Unusual_ ,’ Clover thinks. _‘The_ _Seers of the Sky didn’t say anything about the weather changing so fast this Sun._ ’ He opens his eyes and looks at the sky.

The Moon is covering the Sun, casting a shadow across his village and reaching beyond horizon. From stories of the old times and from experiences the passing travelers and scholars share, Clover knows two things. First, he knows the event is known as the Solar Eclipse, when the Moon covers the Sun. But the second thing was what always captured his imagination better.

He is witnessing the Birth of a Deity.

Not wasting his time, he starts praying again. He says the prayer in the Old Words over and over again, stopping only to inhale. Clover was starting to lose sense of time passing, sweat flowing off his face.

_The only thing I ask of you is to see you with my own eyes._

“Destroy it.”

Cracking his eyes wide open from fright, Clover looks up to see sunlight shining again and warming his skin. The Moon has already moved on.

_‘How long was I praying?’_

But in the next moment, he focuses on a man, the most likely source of the harsh voice, standing in front of him. Taking note of his unusual features - pale alabaster skin, slim body type, messy short black hair and soft red eyes that have an unnatural glow to them - _‘definitely_ _not local,’_ he concludes. But his face … _‘how_ _can a face portray so much pain?’_

“I- I’m sorry?” Clover asks, eyebrow raised, once he composed himself.

“The shrine,” the man growls out. A tear is shed, flowing down the stranger’s face. Falls to the sand on the ground. Red eyes glow more intensely. “Destroy it!”

“No.” A moment of silence. Despite it being warm again, Clover didn’t find it soothing like it normally was. The breeze wasn’t helping, either. “I won’t.” 

“You have to!”

“Why? Why would I destroy something made by my own hand? Something made with love and dedication?”

“Because it brought me here!” The stranger bellows, face contorting in anger. A few quick steps forward, he gets close enough for Clover to notice the smell: ashes, charcoal, burnt spice.

_ ‘_ _Could it be?’_

“This shrine, these offerings, the prayers,” the stranger continues with biting words. “They brought me here. To the village of ...”

“Aesop,” Clover offers.

“Village of Aesop. The longer I stay, the worse it will get.”

“Why? How do you know this?”

“Because I am Misfortune!” The stranger shouts in Clover’s face. “The Harbinger of Misery! A Deity doomed to bring bad things to everyone!” More tears. Black streaks where they flow. More drops falling to the sand, staining it the same charcoal shade.

“I don’t want to exist like this,” his voice breaks. A step back away from Clover. “I don’t want anyone getting hurt because of me. So I beg you.” He extends his hand towards the shrine. “Destroy it. Let me be nothing, like I was moments ago.”

The deity lies down on the sand and bends his knees to his chest. Facing away from Clover who looks unbelieving yet sympathetic upon his Deity.

“Go to Mantle,” the Deity continues in a sad voice, “pray there to the Deities of Atlas. They are more powerful than I could ever hope to be.”

“No.”

The man looks up at Clover in disbelief, eyes wide. It would be comical in any other situation, but not here.

“I won’t do it,” Clover continues calmly. “I’m not going to kill you. Or destroy the shrine.”

* * *

A fist hits Clover’s table in anger. The sound reverberates across the small house and some wood splinters fly off.

“Why not?!” Elm shouts. Clover’s retelling of his meeting with the Deity seems to easily upset his friends by this part of the story.

“He told you what is going to happen,” Harriet notes, continuing Elm’s outrage. “We might as well do it. For the better good! For all of us! For Aesop!”

“Even if we and the deity in question wanted to,” Vine explains in his calm monotone, “we cannot. The Deity rules and Shrine rules were written in Old Words by the Grand Deities and their High Priests. Despite being old, those same rules forbid the worshipers and the common folk from destroying the shrines. The punishment upon the individual, the group, or even the village, would be too great to justify the death of even a minor deity - such as the one that claimed the shrine.”

“This shrine was your idea, Vine,” Marrow recalls.

“I am aware,” Vine replies, “but I never thought it possible. I never thought that a Deity would ever claim the shrine, let alone manifest itself. Our shrine is by all means too small for that to happen.”

“May I continue with my retelling?”

Everyone looks at Clover at that. Silence and a few polite nods across the group encourage him to do so.

“His eyes started to glow a vivid green …”

* * *

“That was Ozpin, the Deity of Deities,” the Deity concludes in monotone after his eyes return to normal soft red. Or at least his normal. He is more calm now than he was a few moments before. “They spoke to me. And told me three things.”

“Ozpin’s words?” Clover could barely hide his excitement. “The words of the Deity of Deities themselves? Can you tell me what they were?”

The man was taken aback by the enthusiasm. Going through so many emotions in such a short time seems to mess with deities and human worshipers, alike.

“The first thing he told me,” the man starts carefully, “was about my … _current condition_.” He looks sadly to the side before explaining: “He knows about my wish to be … _voided_ , and said that it would do a lot more harm than good not just for me, but for everyone in the future. Especially since I was just brought into the world and haven’t given it a chance. He suggested I should do so before I choose my fate.”

“That _does_ sound like Ozpin,” Clover notes. “His wisdom is well respected on the continent, even as far out as Aesop.”

“The second thing is about my birth. I wasn’t the only deity to be born today.”

“Do you know who the other deity is?”

“Raven, Deity of Deception and Vengeance. She came into existence in a forest tribe on the other side of the continent. If Ozpin is to be trusted on his words, she adjusted to existing better than I did.”

* * *

“And the third?”

Everyone’s eyes quickly shifted to Marrow. An enthusiastic question can do that.

“I believe Clover is about to tell us about the third,” Vine states. “Please, continue.”

“The third thing is his name,” Clover continues. “Ozpin gave him a name.”

A pause. Silence.

“Well, what is it?” Elm asks, breaking the silence.

“What do we call the Deity of Misfortune and Misery that laid claim on our humble shrine?” Vine clarifies.

“Qrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qrow's finally here! *trumpet noises and confetti*


	3. The Verdict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clover gives Qrow his verdict.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another chapter! And something interesting happens here, but don't let me spoil it for you.

“So you won’t end me,” Qrow summarizes with a sad tone and a face to match it. “You won’t destroy the shrine.”

Cloudy sky dulls all of the colors. Clover notices a line of sand is outlining the shrine in black. _‘The_ _same color as his tears three Suns ago.’_

“That’s what Aesop has decided upon,” Clover explains, shrugging off the previous thought. “Or rather, what my friends and I who built your shrine were allowed by the Elders of the village to decide on our own.”

* * *

“So let’s talk about the decision we’re about to make,” Clover announces at his table, his friends seated around it like the Sun when he was telling them about Qrow. “Destroying the shrine or leaving it as it is, there will be consequences, either way.”

“If we destroy the shrine,” Harriet interjects, “then we will at least know what kind of punishment will strike us.”

“But that punishment can affect the whole village,” Marrow counters. “What if Ozpin decides to punish _everyone_ in Aesop for that and not just us?”

“That’s not going to happen,” Elm assures. “Ozpin and the Deities of Atlas have bigger problems than some small shrine to a new-born Deity to worry about. That punishment will be on us. Definitely on the one of us that does it.”

“But why even concern ourselves with the punishment?” Vine asks. “We can leave the shrine intact and control Qrow with our offerings and prayers.”

“What if he goes out of control?” Harriet interjects again. “What if we can’t control him?”

“We  _are_ talking about a Deity here,” Elm emphasizes.

“No matter the type and age of Deity,” Vine informs, ”they all need worshipers to pray to them, offerings to give, and a Priest. If they don’t have them all, or not enough of them, they don’t have much power, if any.”

“So if we leave the shrine alone, Qrow won’t be able to do anything?” 

“It was recorded as a viable, working method,” Vine answers. “I could study the effects of this method up-close while also learning about Qrow and Deities in general. Both of them could yield useful knowledge.”

“Are we ready to vote on this matter now?” Clover asks.

* * *

“We ended up voting 3 in favor of not destroying the shrine.”

“I guess I should be thankful,” Qrow deadpans. He looks up at Clover, their eyes locking onto each other. Glowing soft red, and teal. The eye contact doesn’t last for long, but Clover has an idea about what is about to be said.

“I should also apologize about how I was that Sun,” Qrow continues. “I came into existence and the first thing I asked of you is to end it by destroying something you care about a lot.”

“Don’t be,” Clover quickly assures. “If I was in your place, I would likely go through the same notions, myself. I can’t imagine how difficult this all must be for you.”

“I took out a lot of my frustrations on you,” Qrow recalls with confusion. “All of my frustrations. How can you forgive like it was nothing?”

“Life is difficult and complicated,” Clover offers. “It is unpredictable, for commoners and Deities alike. But that’s why it can sometimes be fun and interesting.”

A smirk tugs at Deity’s face.

“Interesting like how you carved my name wrong on the stone tablet?”

“… is that not how your name is carved?”

“You carved it with a _quan_ ,” Qrow explains with a chuckle. “I’m pretty sure that Ozpin meant it to be carved with a _cleft_ and end with _erz_.”

Looking at the carved stone he placed on the altar - along with the usual offerings turned to ashes - again, Clover notes that the mistakes were indeed made.

“I’m sure that can be easily fixed,” Clover reasons with a nervous chuckle. _‘It_ _is never wise to upset any deity for any reason,_ ’ he remembers at the moment. _‘My_ _mothers was right all along.’_ “I can take it back and-”

“It’s fine!” Qrow quickly assures with raised arms, probably because of the other man’s visible unease. “I … actually like it better … this … way.”

Qrow leans his head to the side while saying those last words distractedly, looking at something behind Clover. Following his line of sight, the man notices a rare sight jumping out of the sea, near the horizon.

“A whale! Why didn’t you say anything, Qrow?” Clover beams, bursting from excitement. Realizing what the whale could mean, he explains: “They rarely make their way to our waters. If we catch it, we could have enough food for a Half-Moon! Not to mention profit by trading the bones, teeth and ambergris with the traveling merchants!”

Turning to Qrow, he concludes: ”I should get going. Gather the fishermen for the hunt.” He turns away.

“Wait.”

Clover stops from turning away in an instant.

“Before you go,” Qrow explains carefully, “I would like to offer you my first Blessing, Clover. With your permission.”

Taken aback by the offer, Clover slowly realizes the magnitude of it. There is surprise written all over his face before he schools his features into something more muted.

“I accept your offer,” he offers and walks closer until he is two steps away from the deity.

Qrow places his hand on Clover’s head, the palm resting on his forehead. _‘It_ _feels … normal,’_ he notes in the back of his mind. Qrow bows his head down and says the following in Old Words, his voice carrying an otherworldly power:

“ _May the curses that plague me not get ahold of you._

_May Misfortune leave you like a morning mist._

_May Misery step aside and find a new foe instead._

_And may your endeavor be ever fruitful._ ”

“ _To receive such a blessing from you,_ _I_ _extend my greatest gratitude_ ,” Clover thanks in Old Words as he feels Qrow’s palm lift off his head. It is far from customary to do as he did, but he felt it necessary. _‘Only_ _Old Words can convey how grateful I am.’_

“Now go,” Qrow urges, shooing off Clover. “To Aesop. They will need you.”

Taking a few steps back, Clover cockily says: “Wish us luck!” He then turns around and starts running to the village.

Qrow couldn't help but smile at that and whisper something under his breath.

“They already have  _you_ , don’t they?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haah? Haaah? See what I did there at the end?
> 
> Also, the "quan, cleft, erz" thing, use the first letters of these words to figure out what I think Deity Ozpin would name Qrow if he had a chance.
> 
> Now, how will the whale-hunt go?


	4. The Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the whale hunt.

“I see that the hunt was a success,” Qrow says with surprise in his voice, even though his face didn’t show it. It would be difficult to ignore the big whale corpse beached on the sand. The night-time moon outlines the dead mammal, making it cast a sizeable shadow. Some villagers brought torches, knives and other tools with which they continue dismemberment and collection of meat, bones and teeth.

Clover looks happy, but tired. Covered with specks and splatters of blood everywhere - _‘That_ _better be whale’s blood,’_ Qrow hopes - and is carrying with him a lot of meat. It’s still dripping blood, staining his hands, the sand and even making a red trail that marks the man’s path in a straight line.

_‘He came to see me as soon as he got the meat,’_ Qrow concludes. He doesn’t know what to think about that little revelation. but it makes him feel … happy?

“It was,” Clover confirms. “Can I place this meat on your altar? It’s getting heavy.”

“Please,” Qrow accepts, stepping aside to shorten the man’s path to the shrine.

Once Clover drops his offering on the altar unceremoniously, he sits down and leans on the altar with his back just as unceremoniously, banging his head against it by accident. He quickly rubs off the pain from the back of his head.

“Careful,” Qrow chuckles.

“It happens,” the man shoots back, sounding more tired than he did moments ago. He yawns and his eyelids drifting close. “Can I tell you about the hunt?”

“Only if you want to. And as long as you’re not going to fall aslee-”

Snoring. Clover was fast asleep and  _snoring_ . Just as he was about to start.

“Uhm, … Clover?” 

“He seems to have fallen asleep,” Vine offers.

Qrow doesn’t know when Vine walked up or how he did so without making noise. _‘Or_ _was I just that distracted,’_ Qrow thinks.

“Hunting and exertion for the whole Sun without taking a break does that to a common man. Clover appears to be no exception.”

“You’re … Vine, right?”

“You are correct, Deity Qrow,” 

“You can just call me Qrow,” he quickly corrects. “I don’t … I don’t like being formally named when it’s not necessary.”

“Very well, Qrow.”

Clover tips over, laying on his side on the sand. He doesn’t wake up from that _._ _‘The_ _dark line is getting bigger,’_ Qrow notes as he sees the sleeping man lying completely in the black sand.

“Clover should be moved to his bed,” Qrow notes. “I don’t think he’s going to like waking up here.”

“I agree, but I cannot move him on my own.”

“Can’t your friends help you out?”

“Elm is breaking away the whale’s bones,” Vine explains while looking in the whale’s general direction. “Harriet is helping with the skinning, and Marrow …” Vine squints, “… is collecting the teeth.”

Turning to face Qrow, he concludes: “They are all preoccupied.”

“Is tooth-picking really that important of a job?”

“They are more like bristles,” Vine notes. “A good material for quality brushes.”

“So if everyone is busy,” Qrow mumbles to himself, thinking out-loud, “if Clover is deep asleep, and Vine can’t carry him on his own, …” Stepping up to the altar, he extends his hand above the whale meat and speaks up in Old Words. Vine knows what Qrow says:

_“I accept this offering. May it grant me the ability to walk among the living as if I was one of them.”_

The whale meat catches on fire, as red as Qrow’s eyes. The blood on Clover dries up and evaporates, the vapors swallowed into the flames. The sleeping man at least looks more presentable, now.

“Should I grab the legs?” Qrow asks.

“That would be for the best,” Vine replies. He is still taken aback by the sight, and the implication this might have, but he knows that being useful is more important right now.

He grabs Clover by his armpits. “Let me lead the way.”

“Lead away.”

* * *

_‘I still cannot quite believe the situation,’_ Vine thinks.

Opening the creaking door to his friend’s home, while carrying said friend that is deep asleep, with a Deity of Misfortune and Misery helping out by holding said friend by his feet, wasn’t how Vine imagined spending his night.

“Only a few steps until we reach his bed,” Vine assures and guides them all in.

At the bedside, which  _is_ just a few steps away, Vine and Qrow drop Clover on his bed. Gently.

The bed creaks.

It breaks. All four legs. At the same time. The bed collapses.

Clover is still asleep. And  _snoring._

“I’m sorry,” Qrow says. “I thought that I would have more control over my curses by now.” Looking down at the ground, he adds: “I guess I was wrong.”

“This is not your fault, Qrow. That bed was already old enough. It was a matter of time before it broke.”

“Why would Clover sleep on a bed like that?”

“Sentimentality?” Vine offers. “Using things until they are beyond repair? Efficiency of use? Combinations of the mentioned? I have no concrete evidence, but I am sure that, if you were to ask him, he would tell you.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Vine thinks for a moment.

“Two things,” he reveals. “The way he always talks about you. With respect. Admiration. How he looks forward to seeing you every Sun. How he looks forward to the prayers to sing to you and to the offerings to provide to you. To the time you two spend together.”

“You’re making it sound like there is something between us,” Qrow says with embarrassment coloring his voice, written all over his face, scratching the back of his head. It’s partially from Vine’s directness, but it’s mostly the things he said just now.

“Whatever is the nature of your relationship with Clover is none of my concern,” Vine assures. “I trust him, and he trusts you. I trust his judgement. And for that, I am grateful; for him, and for you.”

“But know this, Qrow,” Vine continues, this time with more edge to his words. “If you hurt him, and if he comes to me, asking me to help him hurt you, I will do it. I will help him. I have studied the laws governing Deities and shrines, and I can hurt you in 53 ways without breaking any laws or suffering the consequences myself.”

“In that case you have nothing to worry about,” Qrow replies calmly. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.” _‘Least_ _of all Clover,’_ went one of Qrow’s unspoken thoughts.

“That is good to know,” Vine states in his calm voice.

“Do you still want to tell me about the second thing?” Qrow asks, trying to change the subject.

Vine thinks again. He takes a deep breath, as if he is about to deliver some big news.

“It is not really my place to say, but I will tell you, anyways. You might want to brace yourself.”

There would be absolute silence if it weren’t for the shift Clover’s snoring. It didn’t get worse, but it wasn’t any better, either.

“Clover wants to become your Priest.”

The door falls off its hinges and clatters to the ground. Qrow disappears into thin air with the clattering.

* * *

“Have you lost your mind?!”

“…and a good birth-of-Sun to you, too, Qrow,” Clover replies after a moment of shock-induced silence. “Can I ask you wha-”

“Out of all things,” Qrow interrupts, continuing with his outrage, “why would you want to become _my_ _Priest_?”

“How did you-”

“Vine told me,” Qrow answers, calmer this time. “After we carried you to your bed.”

“Is that why-”

“Why the bed and the door are broken? Yes. That was my fault.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Clover counters, his calm a contrast to deity’s. “They were in there since I moved in from Mantle. I never bothered to have them changed. They were bound to break anytime soon, anyways.”

“But won’t it cost you to replace them?”

“Maybe some time and some wood,” Clover explains. “I can make things on my own, you know?”

“Right, like how you carved the stone with my name.”

“Like that, yeah,” Clover nods. He clears his throat before continuing: “I guess I should thank you. For carrying me to my home. With Vine’s help.”

“Sure, you’re welcome” Qrow responds. “Just don’t fall asleep at my shrine again. I’m not going to carry you next time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Clover replies with a chuckle.

They eyes meet again. The red eyes are not glowing like they usually do, gracing the world with their softness.

“Vine is my friend,” Clover starts explaining. “I’ve known him for a long time. He never mastered the social graces, and can sometimes seem rude because of that. He always said what was on his mind, and that can easily lead him into trouble.”

“So his honesty isn’t always appreciated?”

“It is, sometimes, but not all the time. I guess that’s why he told you about my wish to become your Priest.”

“He  _did_ tell me to brace myself before telling me about it,” Qrow recalls.

“See?” Clover beams. “Vine is learning.”

“Truly, an inspiration to us all,” Qrow comments sarcastically.

“That point aside,” Clover continues, “if Vine can learn something about how to be around people, then I could learn about being your Priest. And maybe even you can learn something along the way.”

“I don’t know. I still think that’s a bad idea.”

“Then why don’t we just try? For one Eleven-Moon? If it doesn’t work out, then I’ll never ask of it again.”

“One Moon, and I just might consider,” Qrow counter-offers. “Eleven-Moon is too much time.”

“But one Moon is not enough time! Eight Moons, at least!”

“Two.”

“Six!”

“Three!”

“Four!”

“Three and seven Suns?”

“Make that thirteen Suns and I’m ready to accept!”

“Three Moons and ten Suns. Final offer.”

“Deal!” 

They both stay silent for a few moments, taking in the fact that they are going to do the Priesthood. _‘Or_ _at least try it,’_ Clover’s mind supplies. “Let’s begin.”

“Next Sun,” Qrow offers. “I promise.”

“Next Sun, then.”

In Old Words, Clover adds: “ _And_ _I shall hold you to that promise, my Deity.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as you've probably noticed, I decided to focus more on Vine in this chapter. I think he's an interesting but an underappreciated character. I also think his interactions with Qrow in RWBY canon would be interesting, but I'm not going to hold out my hope for that.
> 
> You agree with me? Good. That's OK
> 
> If not? Your opinion, and I respect it. That's OK, too.


	5. The Priesthood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clover and Qrow figure out how to perform the Priesthood. An opportunity presents itself.

The next Sun, Clover brings Vine along to the shrine. Together with Qrow, the three discuss about the elements of Priesthood; what is it, how to do it legally, how most Deities do it, how most Priests get accepted, and all things adjacent to the topic at hand.

“I will make one thing clear,” Qrow explains. “I don’t want anyone to wear my symbol.”

“That’s not going to be a problem,” Clover notes, “since we already decided that there will be no official robes.”

“There seems to be no laws against it,” Vine confirms while sifting through texts. “In fact, there is one supporting it:

‘ _If the association with the Deity is or becomes dangerous, then the Worshipers of said Deity are permitted to not use the symbols or wear the robes publicly, but must not lie about their ties to the Deity in Court proceedings. To lie in Court is to be punished by removing the Worshipers’ freedoms and one Moon’s ban on praying to the Deity for anyone. All of the offers the Deity receives in the time of Moon’s ban will be redirected according to Court proceedings.’_ ”

“But Qrow isn’t dangerous,” Clover counters.

“But my association with Misfortune and Misery might be,” Qrow replies back. “Besides: no robes, no symbols, and no need to hide since there is nothing to show.”

Their next discussion revolves around the induction of new members.

“There should be an offering,” Clover starts, “made by the one that wishes to enter.”

“An offering,” Vine notes, adding: “and a vow.”

“Only if they can offer something they can afford to part with,” Qrow explains. “I don’t want to accept anything that would put anyone in a bad place.”

“An offer that must be made anytime during association, but not immediately?” Clover offers.

“That could work,” Qrow answers. “And a vow could be made that would allow them to leave my worship whenever they choose to.”

“So this is not going to be a life-time bond?” Vine asks for clarification.

“I don’t want for anyone to be bound to me for their entire life. Especially if they don’t want to. It would be miserable for them and me.”

“And we want to avoid causing more misery than necessary,” Clover concludes.

A discussion about gathering people follows shortly after.

“Best to keep it small,” Qrow starts. “Don’t want to get too much attention.”

“Or power,” Clover adds. “How many people would that be, Vine?”

“In order to be considered for official Deity veneration,” Vine explains while searching through the texts, “at least 10 people. Taking Qrow’s wishes into consideration, we can accept 39 before he would have to legally be declared an official Deity of Aesop.”

“20 is the most I am prepared to accept,” Qrow says. “And they all have to be old enough. So no kids.”

“That goes without saying,” Clover assures. “We wouldn’t want to be accused of indoctrinating children.”

“The limit should then be set to the local ages of maturation at youngest,” Vine offers. “In most cases, that would be above 16 Eleven-Moons. The rest go above, with one notable exception going down in age for an Eleven-Moon.”

“Then let’s keep it 16 Eleven-Moons and above,” Clover volunteers.

The rest of the Sun is spent debating on the minor points and fixing anything that might clash within their agreed-upon rules.

With exception of one thing.

“How do we get more people to join us?” Vine points out.

“There’s two of us,” Clover notes. “So that means we need at least 8 more.”

“That’s going to be difficult,” Qrow counters, “considering my-”

“We can ask around Aesop, first,” Clover interrupts. “We could ask our friends.”

“Marrow might join,” Vine ponders, “but I am not sure about Elm.” 

“What about Harriet?”

“Harriet will not join us. She made it very clear that she wants nothing to do with Qrow.”

“Can’t blame her,” Qrow chimes in.

“If there aren’t enough people in Aesop,” Vine continues, “we could contact neighboring villages and connect with their Deities.”

“We can send a message to their people in charge and send some offerings to their Deities as a sign of good faith,” Clover concludes.

* * *

16 Suns later, the Priestess from Patch, a village known for its bountiful grains and flour, arrives to Aesop. Her white cape covers most of her body, but her face is exposed, showing other people the kindness and genuineness through her silver eyes. Traits rare for city Priests, but not unheard of for village ones.

_‘The altar’s shrine is covered in ashes,’_ Clover notes. _‘It_ _should’ve been cleaned before her arrival.’_

“It’s true!” she exclaims with joy once he sees Qrow’s eyes glowing. “A Deity! Existing among us mortals! Visible! Fascinating!”

“Even if the Deity is one of Misfortune and Misery?” Qrow challenges. If Clover didn’t know better, he’d say Qrow is amused by this woman.

“Whatever you’re a Deity of is much less interesting than…” She waves up and down in Qrow’s general presence, “… this. Which is why I would like to extend the invitation to you.”

“An invitation?” Qrow asks.

“For Qrow?” Clover adds. 

“What for?” Vine concludes.

“To present his offering, as I am presenting one to you,” she answers, presenting a bottle of an alcoholic beverage. “In hopes of strengthening the ties of Patch and Aesop, I present you this beverage, blessed by Taiyang, Patch’s Deity of Fertility and Good Harvest.”

There is a short pause.

“I don’t have anything to offer in return,” Qrow points out to her.

“Aesop has already blessed us by trading fish meat for grain for many Eleven-Moons,” the Priestess explains. “By trading with us meat, bones and brushes from the whale you caught, we were at a loss as to what to offer in return. Until you sent us the message. That’s when we knew that we could repay that gratitude by accepting your Deity.”

“Have you stepped in contact with Deity Taiyang?” Vine asks.

“He likes to speak to me through sunflowers,” she answers, “ and the message was clear: for this offering, he only asks to speak to your Deity in person. In Patch, at his shrine.”

“Seems reasonable enough,” Clover notes. “What do you think, Qrow?”

* * *

Three Suns later, Clover arrives to Patch with the Priestess - Summer, she presented herself as, back in Aesop - with a black bird on his shoulder. It is picking gently at Clover’s hair. The fields around them are full of grains; some still growing, while other ready for harvest. The closer they go to the local shrine, the more sunflowers grow along the paths.

“Here’s Taiyang’s shrine,” Summer points out to Clover.

“You heard her,” Clover says to the bird on his shoulder. “You can turn back now.”

The bird in question puffs up, feathers ruffling, before exploding into Qrow’s familiar features. Feathers still linger around - mostly on the ground, but some are still attached to the Deity.

“This was horrible,” Qrow expresses in a brooding voice.

“It was Ozpin’s idea,” Clover points out. “Or so you told me.”

“Well, I regret taking it.”

At Taiyang’s shrine, Summer claps her hands three times and bows her head down.

_“As you commanded, so I have delivered, my Deity,”_ Summer says perfectly in Old Words. _“I_ _summon you to do your bidding now.”_

The sunflowers around the shrine start moving as one, their heads turning in the same direction. Following them, Qrow sees that they are facing a man with blonde hair, deep blue eyes and a tan skin. In many ways, Qrow’s opposite.

“Welcome to Patch, Qrow,” Taiyang greets.

“Glad to be here,” Qrow replies politely in turn. “A nice village you have here.”

“Qrow, who are you talking to?”

“To Taiyang, Clover.”

“Why can’t I see him?” Clover asks while at the same time, Summer exclaims: “You can see him?”

“I don’t know,” Qrow answers to Clover, “but, yeah,” Qrow turns to Summer. He points with his finger. “Right there, where all the sunflowers are looking at.”

Summer steps up closer to the sunflowers. _“I_ _greet you among us, my Deity.”_

“You don’t have to be so formal,” Qrow jumps in. “Just speak to him like you speak to me.”

“Did Taiyang tell you that just now?”

“He did,” Qrow replies. “He is explaining to me now why he wants me here.”

After some silence, Qrow’s face turns to shock, his eyes quickly darting between Taiyang - or at least where he is standing, with all of the sunflowers facing him - and Summer, back and forth.

“I didn’t even know that’s possible,” Qrow replies back to the air in the sunflowers. “Are you sure?”

“Sure about what?” Summer asks.

Turning himself to Summer again, he carefully starts: “Taiyang wants me to tell you something. Something big. Life-changing. You may not like it.”

“Any words from Taiyang’s mouth are a blessing for Patch,” Summer replies back with reverence. “I believe there is nothing he can say to make me lose my faith in him.”

“If you say so.”

Clearing his throat, Qrow takes in a deep breath and delivers Taiyang’s message to Summer:

“Taiyang is Yang’s father.”

Summer takes in a shocked breath.

“Who is Yang?” Clover asks carefully.

“My daughter,” Summer answers. “Yang is my daughter. And … Taiyang’s? How?”

“He says that when you became his Priestess,” Qrow continues, “he thought himself the luckiest Deity. He fell in love with you. The way you talk, the way you bring joy in everyone’s lives you touch. He asked for Ozpin’s permission, and once it was granted-”

“Then Yang came to be,” Summer concludes. A tear is rolling across her cheek.

But it is not a tear of sadness.

Kneeling at where Taiyang is supposed to be, she looks up and, with more tears streaming down her face, exclaims: “I thank you for your blessings, Taiyang, my Deity! I thank you for bringing my first daughter to the world, and I am thankful that she is yours as she is mine! People of Patch love her, and I couldn’t be more proud, even if she is sometimes a handful to take care of.”

“He is … glad to hear all of that,” Qrow gently chimes in, “but he wants you to know that you shouldn’t be kneeling like you are now. You’re dirtying the robes.”

“Is it too disrespectful to Taiyang?” She gasps, standing up and rubbing the dust off her robes where she was kneeling on them.

“It’s not that!” Qrow quickly defends. “He’s worried that the dirt would be difficult to wash off. He doesn’t want you to work harder than you really have to.”

“His kindness is truly limitless,” Summer whispers to herself. Raising her voice, she says: “Thank you, Taiyang. And thank you both as well, Qrow and Clover. I- I don’t know how to repay you.”

“You don’t have to,” Clover advises. “I’m sure if the situations were reversed, you’d do the same.”

Qrow clears his throat again. “Actually, if you’d like to repay us, …“

* * *

“I can’t believe you asked them for more beverages!”

It’s night, after death-of-Sun. Qrow and Clover are sitting next to each other around the campfire. The beverages are placed a safe distance from the fire - with the exception of the one the deity is holding in his hand, already half empty.

“I don’t want to turn into a bird again,” Qrow argues, pointing a finger at him and sloshing the bottle with the jerky move, “and I don’t know what will happen if I run out of energy away from my shrine. So those drinks over there are the only thing that give me enough energy to not worry about disappearing.”

“And the taste and effects have nothing to do with anything,” Clover responds sarcastically.

“They help a lot more than you are right now.”

The fire crackles and sparks, but not so much as to scare them, only drawing their attention to it. Qrow sets his bottle away from the flames, behind his back.

They are both silent for a while.

“Sorry,” Clover offers.

“It should be me who is apologizing to you, Clover,” Qrow counters. “I could have taken the easy way and turned myself into a bird. Now you’re stuck with me like … this.”

“I’m not stuck with you,” Clover soothes. “I’m actually glad to be here with you.”

“How so?”

“When you handled things between Summer and Taiyang this Sun,” Clover starts, propping his hands behind his back, “I’ve seen your kindness again. Even if you are a Deity of Misfortune and Misery, you care a lot about people, strangers or friends. You didn’t have to do any of these things. You didn’t have to go to Patch. You didn’t have to help anyone, yet you still did. And I …”

Turning to face the man he is talking to, he concludes: “… I admire you for that, Qrow. It makes me appreciate being your Priest that much more than before.”

Clover did not expect what happens next.

He feels arms tightening around his shoulders, a warmth pressed in his side. Hair tickles his cheek and the weight of Qrow’s head lies on Clover’s shoulder. He can smell the familiar ashes and charcoal and feel something wet on his shoulder.

Tears. Qrow’s tears.

Clover cards his fingers through Qrow’s hair, gently scraping across the scalp, trying to calm him down. The other man lets him, to his surprise.


	6. The Famine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After two Eleven-Moons, something goes wrong

Two Eleven-Moons later, Clover’s Priesthood is still going strong. During that time, a lot happened to him, his Deity and to the village of Aesop.

Qrow gained more following among the locals and among the neighboring villages over the Moons. Sadly, that meant gaining an official title of a local Deity and all of the responsibilities and formalities that came with it.

They present a great deal of stress to Qrow, who took to drinking like there’s no next Sun. It turned out that once he drank enough to kill a commoner three times over, he could start getting drunk like one as well. That and other things made him a polarizing individual - some hating him for what they see as wasting divine potential and destiny, while others seeing this living being speaking to the likes of them like the likes of them and liking him for that.

No-one likes him for what he represents, though.

Clover’s Priesthood is understood by everyone in Aesop. Most still like him despite being the Priest to the Deity of Misfortune and Misery and accept him like they accepted him before, but only a handful have turned him away completely. 

Harriet among them.

“Why would anyone willingly worship a Deity representing what he represents?” she reasoned with Clover at the time. “He told you about what is going to happen, and you ignored his warnings. You ignored them the first time and you ignore them even now! I’m starting to feel less safe by every passing Sun.”

She left for Mantle a few Suns after that conversation. It was a painful goodbye to all of their friends.

During those two Eleven-Moons, another event took place every Moon - Summer’s visit with her daughters, Yang and Ruby. Qrow stopped his drinking just for their visit. Between the three, Yang clicked with Qrow fast. Ruby did so later, but stronger than Yang. She considered Aesop’s Deity her family, calling him her ‘Uncle Qrow’.

Finding it endearing, Qrow never corrected her once.

But good things never seem to last for Qrow.

One Eleven-Moon and ten Moons after Qrow helped deliver Taiyang’s news, something bad happened.

Summer died.

Taiyang became miserable.

Crops in Patch started failing, with little to salvage.

People were starving.

All the surrounding villages were helping out - Aesop included - but they could each spare only so much.

Even now, a Moon later, Qrow still blames himself for all of it. Brooding at death-of-Sun around the shrine, its dark sand now barely reaching the sea at low tide.

“You have to stop, Qrow,” Clover starts. “It’s not good for you to be like this.”

“Why should I!” Qrow shouts. “Why should I do anything, Clover? If I do something, someone ends up suffering because I did something. If I don’t do anything, someone will end up suffering because I did nothing.”

“But not everything is your fault.”

“But some things are!”

“We talked about this,” Clover recalls. “I will repeat this as many times as I need to, but just like with Adam, this is not your fault. Summer’s death is not your fault.”

“Well it sure feels like it is,” Qrow counters. “It’s because of me that Summer and Taiyang connected stronger than before.”

“And that wasn’t a bad thing,” Clover points out. “Their love was something to be celebrated across the region. Something to hold close to the heart to push through the Sun’s work. It motivated a lot of people to be their better selves.”

“And then Summer died. And then Taiyang became miserable, and a lot of people started suffering.”

“And it wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes it was! If they didn’t connect as strongly as they did because I helped them out, then things wouldn’t be as bad.”

“You don’t know that,” Clover counters. “Nobody does. Besides, thinking long and hard enough about anything, and it’s easy to twist it as your own fault.”

“Like anything you ever did resulted in tragedy.”

Taking a moment of silence, Clover mentally accepts the challenge.

“Did I ever tell you about my life before I got to Aesop?”

* * *

“Clover.”

An aged man’s voice echoes through the halls of Mantle’s main house of worship. It makes the younger man stop sweeping the floor with a broom and turn to the source. Besides the elder man

is an equally elder woman,

“Grand Priest Jacques. Grand Priestess Willow.” Clover replies back and bows in a respectful manner. He places the broom to lean on the closest wall. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“You can,” Jacques starts. “Tell me, have you considered the offer?”

“To go through Ironwood’s Priesthood, you mean, Grand Priest?”

“The very same one, Clover,” Willow answers politely, a smile tugging at the corners. “You spend time every birth-of-Sun to be among the first to pray to Deity Ironwood - earlier than most Priests, might I add.”

“It’s on my way to the guard barracks,” Clover explains. “It didn’t take long to form a comfortable habit out of it.”

“And just like now,” she continues, “every death-of-Sun, you help with cleaning this very house of worship. That is what we appreciate about you.”

“We spoke about it to other Priests,” Jacques explains. “Almost all of them agree that you’d be the most suitable candidate for the next Priesthood.”

“And many of them would be willing to guide you, personally,” Willow adds.

“That sounds like quite the honor, Grand Priest and Priestess.”

“Indeed.”

“But I must decline.”

Shock makes way for confusion on Jacques’ face in an instant. “Wh-why?”

“Why decline such a great honor?” Willow elaborates on her spouse’s behalf.

“With all due respect, Grand Priestess and Priest, I’m a guardsman from the outskirts of Mantle. I never learned like a Priest and I’ve never learned the Old Words. It would take too long for me to know and use them as well as the rest of you.”

“Why throw such an opportunity away?” Willow asks.

“I like worshiping Ironwood the way I do now,” Clover explains, “and I believe the best way for me to worship him is to be a part of Mantle’s guard, protecting it like Ironwood does.”

“But this is the offer of a lifetime!” Jacques argues. “There are people who dedicate their _lives_ to worship, to be _chosen_ for Priesthood!”

“Then I suggest giving that spot to someone who  _wants_ to be a Priest.”

* * *

Qrow giggles at the last statement. 

“I never imagined you, of all people, to talk back to important people,” he explains.

“I have my Suns,” Clover replies.

“So what happened next?”

“Bullying.”

Qrow’s momentary happiness drops as fast as it appeared.

“They bullied me,” Clover continues. “At first, they ignored me. They minded their own business, and I my own. I still prayed to Ironwood at birth-of-Sun and I helped with cleaning at death-of-Sun. Or at least as much as they would allow.

“Later, it started getting worse. They started preventing me from helping them out with cleaning, by either saying they don’t need help, or by telling me I’m no longer welcome to the house of worship. My birth-of-Sun prayers had to be done away from all Ironwood’s shrines because they would start harassing me.

“It wasn’t until the guard followed suit that I realized how bad things were for me. First by letting me work only on least necessary shifts, then by not letting me work at all.”

Looking Qrow directly into his eyes, he concludes: “I was forced to move out of the only home I ever knew of at the time. And eventually, I ended up here.”

“All because you said no?”

“The Grand Priest and Priestess hold a lot of power in Mantle. Play along, and you get rewarded. Take a stand against them, and you’re done.”

“But they aren’t Ironwood.”

“True, but they represent Ironwood’s will to people of Mantle. To them, it makes no difference.”

Qrow thinks about what Clover just said and reaches his own conclusion.

“You never got closure.”

Clover is silent.

Qrow gets an idea. He reaches for the last bottle of beverage that was given to him as an offering seven Suns ago and opens it.

“This isn’t the best time for drinking, Qrow.” Clover points out. “And you know I don’t drink that stuff.”

“I won’t use it as a drink. In fact, …”

Spilling the contents of the bottle into his own palm, the liquid starts to burn on contact, the same color and intensity as Qrow’s eyes.

Until both turn dark blue.

“Qrow?”

“Not at the moment,” Qrow responds with a different, deeper voice that isn’t his. His stance also shifts to a more stable position. “Clover, allow me to explain.”

* * *

“Ironwood, Mantle’s Deity of Protection and Strategy. I am Qrow, Aesop’s Deity of Misfortune and Misery.”

Qrow takes a good look at the Deity he is addressing. White skin, black hair, cobalt blue eyes and broad shoulders that match the height, making his appearance more intimidating. _‘The_ _stories of metal covering one of his sides appear to hold true,’_ he notes.

“You are one of the two new Deities,” Ironwood states.

“Correct.”

“And you wish to have an audience with me?”

“I do, if you have time.”

“Well, then. Let me hear what you have to say.”

“It’s about my Priest,” Qrow starts. “Before he came to Aesop, he used to live in Mantle. He was a guardsman who visited your shrines every birth-of-Sun.”

“Sounds familiar, but that description fits most of Mantle’s guard.”

“And every death-of-Sun, he helped out with cleaning duties in your house of worship.”

“Wait,” Ironwood says, reaching an unbelievable conclusion: “ _Clover_ is your Priest?”

“You know Clover?”

“How can I not know Clover? The Priests were singing praise about him and the Grand Priest and Grand Priestess would not stop endorsing him. At least until … something happened, and Clover was no longer getting mentioned.”

“He was offered Priesthood.”

“I know that part.”

“He declined it.”

“That part I did not know.”

“And because he declined it,” Qrow continues, “your Priests turned against him and managed to somehow convince the guards to do the same. He felt like he had no choice but to leave his home.”

* * *

“Which is why I am here now,” Ironwood, who is possessing Qrow’s form, continues, “to tell you that what the Priests, Grand Priest Jacques, Grand Priestess Willow and your fellow guardsmen did to you - I find it inexcusable and unforgivable. You should not have been treated the way you have been, you shouldn’t have felt like Mantle was a dangerous place for you to live in, and I hope you forgive me for my lack of agency in this matter.”

Ironwood looks … _‘ashamed,’_ Clover’s mind supplies.

“I never blamed you for any of this, Deity Ironwood,” Clover clarifies. “And after all this time, I even forgave them all. I let it go. For me, it’s all in the past now.”

“You want them all to go unpunished?”

“No.” Taking a moment to set his thoughts in place, he continues: “I only want you to make sure, by your best abilities, that something like that doesn’t happen to anyone under your watch, ever again. Take my experience and turn it into a valuable lesson for those that caused it, if you must, but don’t hurt them on my behalf.”

“I see why they wanted you to take on the Priesthood,” Ironwood notes. “But they have taken your denial too far. I do not blame you for not wanting to be my Priest - it was your choice, after all, and I respect it, even if I gained nothing from it.”

“That was one of the reasons I started worshiping you in the first place,” Clover explains. “You were described as a Deity that is selfless, caring about others, a Deity that can be reasoned with. You were what inspired me to be like I am now. And I consider myself lucky to meet my childhood idol.”

“I am glad that you got something good out of it all,” Ironwood replies, “even if it meant losing you as my worshiper. Qrow is lucky to have you as his Priest.”

At that, Clover launches himself at Ironwood in Qrow‘s vessel and hugs him. Qrow’s face shifts to visible surprise, making way to comfort.

“I’m glad that you took the time to tell me all of this,” Clover says with admiration, resting his head on Qrow’s shoulder. In Old Words, he continues: _“Not_ _many Deities would have done this, and for that, I thank you, Deity Ironwood.”_

_“And not many mortals would have forgiven me,”_ Ironwood replies in Old Words with warmth, _“or_ _even given me such a simple gesture to express their gratitude. I therefore give you my Blessing. May you be protected from worst harms and may you always know what to do.”_

They separate themselves. Clover’s shedding a tear from the corner of his eye, which he quickly wipes away. He looks towards the horizon, seeing the Sun dying on his right, and spotting something unusual straight ahead.

“Ships,” Clover explains, “but I don’t recognize them, or their flag.”

“I do,” Ironwood states coldly, all the warmth from before gone.

“Who are they?”

“It’s Salem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot escalates.


	7. The War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salem's forces are approaching. Clover has a plan.

Once the night fell upon Aesop, everyone was gathered in one place so Clover could deliver the grave news.

“A fleet of ships is approaching our village,” Clover starts, addressing the crowd and the Elders. “They will reach Aesop soon, and they have no good intentions.”

“You speak as if you know who these strangers are,” an Elder woman points out, “and what their intentions are.”

“I do, Elder Maria,” Clover replies. “I spoke to Deity Ironwood-”

“How?” An elderly woman’s voice interrupts from the crowd. “How did you speak to Ironwood?”

“Elder Cordovin,” Maria addresses the other Elder woman, “let the man speak. He wouldn’t be saying these things if he didn’t believe them.”

“So you’re going to trust him blindly?”

“Was that a jab at my poor sight?”

“Elders, please,” Clover pleads, “let me finish my explanation first. Then we can decide what to do about it.”

The two Elders looked at each other - or Maria at least tries to - before coming to an unspoken truce.

Clover takes that as a sign to continue.

“I spoke to Deity Ironwood while he was possessing Qrow.”

* * *

“Salem is a sole Deity of her continent,” Ironwood - who is still in Qrow’s body, noticeable by the dark blue eyes that look off on him - explains, looking at the ships on the horizon that are still far, but slowly approaching. “She has turned against other Deities and started claiming everything: land, Priests, offerings. She destroyed anyone that was in her way - commoner and Deity alike - until she was the only one left.”

“Does that mean that some have accepted her?” Clover asks.

“Those that did at first are now among her ranks,” Ironwood recalls, “but those that joined her later were given no such luxury - mortals used up like offerings and Deities scraped of their Priests. The same fate as the ones that resisted.”

“But that leaves the Deities-”

“In a state of nothing, if luck is on their side,” Ironwood concludes. “Otherwise, it can be a never-ending agony.”

“You say these things like you’ve experienced them.”

“That’s because I have. The metal is the proof.”

A lot of things about Ironwood now make more sense to Clover.

“Is that why-”

* * *

“-why Deity Ironwood is half-metal?” Elder Maria jumps in. “I thought it was all for show, like ‘I can protect you all because I have metal on me.’”

_‘Her impression of Ironwood is not that far off,’_ Clover notes.

“It turns out that’s not the case,” Elder Cordovin retorts, “which you would’ve known, had you ever read anything in your life.”

Clover clears his throat with more force than necessary. Both of the Elders set aside their disagreements and nod politely for him to continue.

“The point is,” Clover concludes, “that when they get here, there will be a fight. There will be no prisoners, no mercy, and they will do everything in their power to move onward to Mantle and conquer the rest of our continent.”

“Then what do we do?”

“We move everyone away from Aesop.”

There are murmurs and whispers going about the place. Some sounding in agreement, others grunting their disapproval.

“We can’t fight them alone,” Clover points out. “Their numbers are too big and could easily defeat us. There is no shame in running away to live for another Sun.”

“Then where do we run to?” A voice sounds from the crowd.

“Patch,” Clover explains. “It was Ironwood’s suggestion. Mantle’s soldiers will wait for us there, and those of us that are willing to fight, we’ll do it then and there.”

* * *

“For the will … of our Goddess!”

The night has fallen a long time ago. Clover is making sure the villagers of Aesop have made it far enough when he hears the stranger’s order, followed by a maniacal laughter, driving a cheer from what sounds like at least a crew-worth of people.

Wood splintering from colliding with heavy objects. Fire spreading and crackling, slowly turning the place into a shining beacon.

“They need more time,” Marrow says to his friends who volunteered to be among the last to leave.

“That’s all the time they have now,” Elm points out. “It’ll have to do.”

“It is better than not having it in the first place,” Vine notes.

After some thinking, Clover gets an idea.

“What if we  _can_ give them more time?”

* * *

“A challenge?”

Clover looks up at the intruder he is just offering a challenge to - pale skin, a long face with yellow eyes, long black braided ponytail and a scorpion tail on his back. In the middle of Aesop, surrounded by his crew, rubble and burning wood.

A girl with shoulder-length green hair is trying to escape his iron grasp. She is looking at the group, fear evident on her face, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“A fair fight,” Clover clarifies. “If you win, we leave you alone and you continue as you planned. I win, you retreat with your people and wait for a Sun. And you also let Emerald go.”

“And why would I do any of that?” The scorpion-tail asks, venom practically dripping from his words. His grip on Emerald tightens and her face contorts from the added pain.

“Because our village must be boring to you,” Elm offers, spreading her as if to show around. “No people to scare, to scream in terror, to spread the news about your arrival and scare more people.”

“And we are presenting you with something more fun than taking advantage of an innocent girl,” Vine adds with an uncharacteristic cheer in his voice. Clover is sure he’s not the only one that’s unnerved about this right now.

“A challenge,” Marrow continues, “if you’re not afraid to take it!”

“Who said I was afraid?” The scorpion man challenges, letting go of Emerald and raising his sword to the group that is taunting him. “I, Tyrian, the most loyal to Salem, the One True Goddess, am not afraid of anything!”

Clover grabs a sword laying on the ground and raises it at Tyrian. The sword is rusty and in poor condition, but he’s confident that it will hold.

“Then I, Clover, Priest of Qrow, Aesop’s Deity of Misfortune and Misery, openly challenge you to a fair fight.” He points the tip of the sword to the man and cockily adds: “If you’re not afraid.”

Tyrian lunges at Clover, and their swords collide.

“This is going to be fun!” Tyrian announces, letting out his maniacal laughter again.

* * *

_‘The fight was anything but fair,’_ Clover realizes afterwards, clutching at his abdomen. His steps are slow, dragging in the sand, along with the big tail of a scorpion, leaving its own mark along with a blood trail.

Qrow’s shrine is now close enough for Clover to make a few more steps on his own.

After placing the scorpion tail on the altar, he knows what to do now. He’s done it almost every Sun.

“Qrow? I’m here.”

It takes only that for the Deity to appear out of thin air and be by his side. He tips forward, legs giving up, but gets caught in time. Qrow makes the man lie down on his lap. He sees the injuries.

“Clover? Why are you-”

“We were making sure,” Clover starts, speaking with a strained voice, “the villagers got far enough.” He coughs. “But then we heard the intruders. They got here sooner than we expected.”

“So you thought it was a good idea and fight them?” Qrow practically roars the question.

“I bought the people of Aesop more time,” Clover argues, followed by clutching his stomach at the wound, “by fighting the leader of the crew.”

Looking back at the altar, Qrow makes the connection between the tail and the wound.

“You’re dying.”

Their eyes meet properly this time. The soft red eyes started glowing stronger, making the teal appear more muted and dull. The wound on Clover’s front doesn’t look good, scarlet purple oozing out of it.

“Got stung by their leader. It wasn’t a fair fight like we agreed upon.”

“You’re dying,” Qrow repeats, “and your first thought was to come see me and drag that thing with you?”

“No,” Clover quickly assures. “My first thought was to make sure Emerald is safe.”

“Emerald? The girl that used to steal a lot?”

“I made sure to leave her with my friends,” Clover explains. “I gave her a small Blessing in your name. She’s going to feel much safer, now that she can protect them. Only after I said goodbye to my friends and made sure about Emerald did I make my way to you.”

The Sun is being born on the horizon, bathing the sky and the sea in beautiful colors of fire. Clover can now see that Qrow is shedding black tears again. _‘Just_ _like the first time,’_ his mind notes. The lying man goes into a coughing fit.

“Qrow,” Clover tries, “can you tell me again about yourself? Like you did the First Sun?”

Qrow’s eyes close for a moment before he composes himself enough to say the words.

“I am Qrow,” he starts. “I am Misfortune. The Harbinger of Misery. A Deity doomed to bring bad things to everyone.”

Qrow is now sobbing, the tears falling off his cheeks with every sob.

“But without Misfortune,” Clover speaks up, “how would we appreciate Good Fortune? Without Misery, how would we know of Gratitude? Without these, life would be less worth living.”

He reaches up and wipes some tears off the Deity’s cheeks.

And without much thinking, he uses the last of his strength to move up and make their lips contact.

Such a simple contact, such a short time, but conveying so many things.

_’He feels so lifelike,’_ Clover thinks in that moment. _’All_ _these Eleven-Moons and I never got used to it.’_

Laying back on his back, Clover gets a nice view of the new-born Sun.

“I chose this place well,” Clover remarks.

His head tips to the side, his eyes become unfocused and blurry.

Clover exhales.

He doesn’t inhale again.

Qrow’s eyes open wider in shock, glowing brighter by the moment. The air around him starts visibly humming and blurring.

The inhumanly loud shriek that tears out of him can be heard by all of the Deities on the continent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so before you throw me into Salem's tar pool of death for what I did at the end (I hate myself for it, too, if it helps?),
> 
> let me just casually point out that there is one more chapter to go.


	8. The End

The Sun is at the highest point in the sky. Almost no clouds in sight as far as the eyes can see.

A young woman stumbles upon a sight most unusual.

An abandoned shrine to a lost Deity.

A man-sized scorpion tail on the altar.

A skeleton at the foot of the altar.

The black sand surrounding the shrine, reaching all the way to the sea.

_‘This is the place,’_ she thinks.

Stepping up to the shrine, leaving footprints in the black sand, her green eyes focus on the laying skeleton.

“ _I_ _extend my sorrows_ _at the loss of your Priest, Deity_ …” she starts gently in Old Words, trying to read the carved name. “… Qrow?” She reverts to the common language. “That name is most unusual for a Deity. But I am sure it is no error.”

A gentle breeze blows by, lifting some of the strands of her long red hair.

“Your Priest wan not put through a burial,” she notes, “unless this is how the dead are honored here?”

From her side, she pulls some small fruits and lays them on the altar.

The fruits catch on fire, startling the young woman.

“Who are you?”

She startles again. Looking to the side of the shrine, she sees a man who must’ve been the source of the gruff voice. Short black messy hair, skin of pale alabaster.

The eyes that glow the same color of the burning fruits. But also looking around in confusion.

“I’m Pyrrha,” she answers carefully. “I was sent here by Grand Priestess Glynda as a part of my Priesthood. I hope you don’t mind me asking, Deity Qrow, but is leaving a Priest’s body at your altar a way of honoring their duty to you?”

His eyes focus on the skeleton on the ground, widening in an instant.

“Oh no! Clover!”

Qrow bends down to the laying skeleton. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, if his many attempts of reaching and pulling back without touching are to go by.

He is getting frustrated and his tears are spilling.

They leave black lines where they flow down his cheeks.

“Qrow?” Pyrrha asks as carefully as she has answered before.

“How long was I gone!?” His voice is quiet, but it breaks half-way through. 

“I can tell you,” Pyrrha tries as calmly as she can, “but I need you to tell me what’s the last thing you remember.”

Qrow tries his best to collect himself as much as he can.

“Clover dying in my arms,” he tries to answer without breaking down. His sobs are getting stronger.

“How did he die?”

“He told me he got in a fight with one of Salem’s men. He got stabbed by that thing,” Qrow points behind them at the well-preserved stinger on the altar. “Poison, and a gaping wound.”

After leaving Qrow to sob himself out for a few moments, she figures it would be best to tell him immediately.

“Qrow, you were gone for over 200 Eleven-Moons. You missed the war with Salem that lasted over 150 Eleven-Moons.”

* * *

“So that’s what I’ve missed,” Qrow concludes.

The Sun is setting and is about to die by the time Pyrrha finishes the abbreviated history of the war. The Deity has calmed down significantly by this point.

“Pretty much,” Pyrrha agrees. “It is only the parts considered most important. It would otherwise take much longer.”

The sea laps at the sand and backs away.

“Deity Qrow?”

“Please, just call me ‘Qrow’.”

“Very well. Qrow?”

“Yes, Pyrrha?”

“I hope I’m not offending you or overstepping any lines by saying this,” she starts, “but I think I see why Clover liked being your Priest.”

“How so?”

“When I was explaining you the history,” she explains, “you could have easily said ‘I had enough! Please leave me to my own devices!’ at any time. And you never did. You let me talk and explain and you only stopped me to clear some things up. I don’t remember last time I spoke for so long.”

With a polite bow, she then adds: “Thank you, Qrow.”

“I guess I should be thanking you, too,” Qrow notes. “For waking me up. For clearing things up. Many people would’ve seen an abandoned shrine with the skeleton laying at the altar and not go anywhere near it.”

“Can I come by next Sun?”

“Sure.”

“May I bring some friends?”

“No more than four.”

“Then I’ll see you next Sun, Qrow.”

* * *

“You want to do  _what_ ?”

It’s the next Sun, not far after birth. The sky is covered in more clouds than the Sun prior.

“We want to help you bury your Priest,” Jaune - Pyrrha’s Guard - repeats Pyrrha’s proposition.

“Why?” Qrow asks.

“Because we heard what Pyrrha told us about you,” Ren - a guy who is going through Priesthood initiation like Pyrrha - explains.

“And it really touched us,” Nora - Ren’s Guard - adds.

“So we decided that we want to help you give your Priest a burial,” Pyrrha concludes. “If you allow us, of course.”

“But why?” Qrow asks again. “I’m a Deity of Misfortune and Misery that was left forgotten. I don’t have much power. I can’t offer you much. I can’t offer you anything.”

“You don’t have to give us anything,” Nora answers.

“We only want to give your Priest the burial we think he deserves,” Ren adds.

“We’re going to treat all of this with the same respect we would give our own burials,” Jaune assures.

“We only ask you for your permission,” Pyrrha concludes.

Qrow thinks for a few moments about what the group has said.

“One condition.”

“Name it,” Pyrrha replies.

“Bring me some offerings so I can help you out as much as I can. But only whatever you can spare.”

* * *

The following eight Suns went by in a blur for Qrow. They started with the offerings, continued with work, and ended before death-of-Sun to discuss what to do next.

The first two Suns were spent gathering the necessary supplies into one place. Most of those supplies composed of wood and tools.

The third Sun was spent making a small boat. It took a lot of time and effort from everyone - Qrow included. It didn’t help that the wood liked to splinter and snap at the worst times. By the end of that Sun, they had a functional boat.

Fourth Sun pointed out the faults in their boat building. Testing it in the sea, it was quickly noted that it leaks in some places. The whole Sun was spent patching it with wood and resin, and testing it out to check for more faults.

By the end of fifth Sun, the boat was patched to perfection and even tested with additional weight. They put some of the heavier rocks in it and the boat held together.

On Suns six and seven, the boat was turned upside-down and left to dry. Qrow joined the group around their campfire after Sun died. They shared stories about themselves. Pyrrha and Ren talked about their Priesthood initiation experiences, Jaune and Nora about their times training as Guards, and Qrow talked about how things used to be -

“In Arepo,” Jaune supplied.

“Aesop,” Qrow corrected.

“Like I said,” Jaune countered.

“You said Arepo,” Ren pointed out.

“No, I didn’t! Nora, Pyrrha, help me out here!”

“You said Arepo,” Nora confirmed.

“I heard the same as everyone, Jaune,” Pyrrha added. “You definitely said Arepo instead of Aesop.”

After the argument got solved (“I know I said Aesop. You’re all just mean.”), Qrow spoke about his experiences.

About his Birth, about meeting Clover for the first time. About Clover’s friends and other villagers of Aesop. About Clover’s idea of Priesthood and how they did it. About successes and failures of his time as an official local Deity.

About the last Sun he spent with Clover.

Ren was writing everything down on a scroll as fast as he could swish his brush and dip it in ink.

* * *

On eighth Sun, the last of the preparations are prepared.

The small boat is turned over, as dry as it will ever be. Bowls of scented oil are being placed into it.

Clover’s skeleton is carefully moved and placed on top of the bowls. Some bones dislocate and fall off, but they are picked up and placed as closely as they were originally.

The Sun is at the highest point in the sky when everything is done.

“Would you like to say some parting words, Qrow?”

He looks at the boat, prepared to be pushed, to be taken away by the sea.

“Of course, Ren,” he answers.

He says the following in the Old Words:

_“I release you from your duties, Clover, my Priest._

_I leave you now to the whims of Life._

_May you find Peace in Life._

_And may you find Peace in the Afterlife._

_I hope you forgive me for keeping you by my side,_

_For so long, not giving you your just closure._

_From now on, I promise, I will do my best,_

_To not neglect anyone like I have neglected you.”_

The words are accompanied by some silence, as everyone takes the moment in.

Qrow kisses the skeleton’s forehead.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Qrow announces to the group. “Let’s do this.”

They push the boat into the open sea. They accompany Clover for a while, stepping into the sea, letting the boat drift. Eventually, the currents take over, and the boat starts gliding away on its own. 

They all return back to the beach, where a small fire is set up. Pyrrha dips an arrow head into the fire and places it into the bow. As she is about to let the taut string loose, a wind starts blowing. It blows out the fire on the arrow.

The wind picks up and the air turns colder. The sky turns darker and the small campfire gets blown out, leaving only embers that glow brighter.

Looking at the sky, everyone understands what is going on.

The Solar Eclipse is about to begin.

Qrow has a spur-of-the-moment idea.

He turns into a crow and flies to his shrine as fast as his wings can take him.

At the shrine, he explodes into his regular human form, extends his hand over the old scorpion tail and says in Old Words:

_“I accept this offering. May it grant me strength in my corvid form.”_

The tail burning the same color as his eyes, Qrow turns back into his crow form and grabs the tail with his talons.

He croaks from the pain, but doesn’t let go.

He starts flapping his wings faster. He lifts off, but his wings also start catching on fire.

A ball of soft red fire that is croaking from the pain is flying towards Clover’s burial boat.

Over the sea, Qrow has to deal with not only the pain from the fire, but also the winds that are disorienting him, and the lowering visibility of the approaching Solar Eclipse.

He manages to fly over the burial boat and letting go of the burning tail of the scorpion man.

It misses.

It falls into the sea.

Because Qrow is still on fire, he flies to the boat as close as he can.

He lands into one of the bowls of scented oil.

It catches on fire, burning the same soft red color.

In agony from all the burning, Qrow manages to jump out of the boat and fly as close to the beach as he can. Halfway, he becomes too tired from the pain and exertion and plummets into the sea.

The fire no longer burns him, but he can’t breathe.

He swims up to the surface, no longer a bird. He doesn’t have any burn marks, but he is covered in black streaks and smudges. He walks back to the beach.

Once out of the sea, Qrow collapses with his back on the sand. He is catching his breath.

Jaune, Nora, Pyrrha and Ren run towards him. He can barely hear what they’re saying, and even then he has no idea what they’re talking about. They huddle around him and try their best to put him in a sitting position.

Qrow sees why.

The view of the Solar Eclipse.

The visible stars and clouds.

The boat that is now burning in teal flames.

_‘I wish you were here, Clover,’_ Qrow thinks selfishly. _‘I_ _wish you could’ve seen what we’ve just done.’_

_‘I wish I could see you again, Clover.’_

The Eclipse slowly passes, the Moon making way for the Sun. The air starts warming up and the winds are calming down.

Qrow’s other senses are returning to him.

“I’m fine,” he answers to a question that he thinks it was asked.

“How can you be fine?” Jaune asks bewilderingly. “You turned yourself into a bird! Set the scorpion tail on fire! Carried the tail as a bird! Caught yourself on fire! Almost drowning yourself at the end?”

“I know,” Qrow counters. “Love makes us do the weirdest things for the ones we care.”

“You can say that again.”

A familiar voice makes Qrow’s neck almost snap from how quickly he turns his head.

“Clover?”

“The one and the same, Qrow,” Clover answers. Clover’s teal eyes are now glowing, just like Qrow’s glow in his soft red.

“Well, almost,” Clover quickly corrects himself. “Turns out, I’m a Deity now?”

“A Deity of what,” Pyrrha asks carefully, her eyes betraying the surprise “if I may ask?”

“A Deity of Good Fortune,” Clover answers, eyes locking with the other Deity’s. “Lucky you, huh, Qrow?”

He winks at the laying Deity.

The said Deity stands up, his legs wobbly, and runs up into Clover’s embrace.

“I can’t believe that you’re here,” Qrow reveals, sounding like he’s tearing up.

“I can’t quite believe any of this, myself,” Clover admits, combing through the other Deity’s hair with his fingers. “But I think I understand your first moments of existence so much better.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“You were born with the knowledge,” Clover explains. “The knowledge about what you’re going to be a Deity of. It does a lot to shape your personality. Like in your case, how you immediately knew that Misfortune and Misery were things that people don’t want. You wanted to isolate yourself from the world as to not hurt anyone.”

“And what about you?” Qrow asks. “How does Good Fortune affect you?”

“I think my Deity-hood is a little more different from yours,” Clover guesses. ”I have memories from when I was a commoner. From when I served as your Priest. I’m not sure how that’s going to affect things.”

“But it’s definitely going to be different from mine,” Qrow answers.

“That it will.”

They break away from each other’s embrace.

“Wait,” Qrow realizes. “Clover, if you’re here…”

“Yes?”

“Then that means you’ve claimed a shrine.”

“Yeah, I did. I claimed yours.”

Qrow’s eyes widen.

“I mean,” Clover quickly defends himself, “I can find some other shrine, if you don’t want to-”

He is stopped with a quick kiss.

“Of course you can have my shrine,” Qrow states. “We can share it. We can share the Priests, the offerings - anything you want. However, I can’t help but to think that you’re kind of a dumbass?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You could’ve claimed a shrine in Mantle,” Qrow points out. “You would’ve had Priests practically piling up to be yours, and offerings would be pouring towards you.”

“But that would mean being far from you,” Clover reasons, “and I think we’ve been too far away for too long, don’t you think?”

“Good point. Can’t argue with that.”

A throat gets cleared, shifting the focus from the Deities to the group of young adults.

“Care to introduce me?” Clover asks.

“Uhm, yeah, sure,” Qrow answers. “They’re Jaune, Nora, Pyrrha and Ren. They’re the kids that helped me give you your burial today. Kids, this is Clover, the guy whose skeleton we’ve burned on the sea.”

“Among other things,” Ren adds. “I am honored to be in your presence, Clover.”

The group bows politely.

“Are you accepting new worshipers, Clover?” Nora asks.

“I would like to get settled, first,” Clover replies honestly, “but yeah, that sound great.”

“Can we be among your first?” Jaune asks.

“I mean,” Clover answers, “if you want to. And if it doesn’t conflict with any other Deity.”

“Our Priesthoods are general,” Pyrrha answers. “It means that after Ren and I are done with them, we can apply to become Priests for any Deity.”

“And we haven’t decided on a Deity yet,” Ren adds.

“Then you’re all more than welcome,” Clover concludes. “But under one condition.”

“Which is …?” Nora asks.

“You aren’t going to be my Priests and worshipers only. You’re going to worship and pray to Qrow as much as you’re going to do to me.”

“I don’t see any problems with that,” Pyrrha notes. “I find it aggreable.”

The rest of the group nods in agreement.

“Then I’ll be more than glad to have you,” Clover responds.

Qrow clears his throat.

“ _We’re_ going to be more than glad to have you,” he quickly corrects himself.

Ren, Nora, Jaune and Pyrrha are all excidetly cheering about their new statuses.

“Now, then,” Jaune says, infected by the enthusiasm,  “let’s bring people to Arepo!”

“Aesop!” Everyone corrects him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Most of this chapter was written mere hours before publishing it online.

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first work I've ever written for the RWBY fandom. It was also the first time I joined a writing challenge. Even though I didn't stick to the prompts provided by the Fair Game Week 2020, I still think I brought something interesting to existence.
> 
> As for the future of this work, I'm still thinking about it. Should I expand it? Should I give it all my own details and show you how I imagined things? Should I turn it into an original work? Should I write a sequel? Should I write some bits and pieces that haven't been focused on and could add a dimension to the work?
> 
> And for those of you that supported me while I was publishing these chapters daily for the duration of FGW2020: thank you so much, you guys! You gave me encouragement, made me feel like this work should not be given up on. You ensured me that, even though the writing style is not what I'd like (far from it), you find it interesting and, apparently, worth your time reading.
> 
> Special thanks to:
> 
> LembraginiCC, who was the first to comment in mere minutes of me publishing the first chapter. Thanks for that first comment!  
> elzierav, who made me cry happy tears with the comment about the quality of my writing style when I was unsure about it. I really needed that, thank you!  
> Bluejay, who made sure to tell me they love my work with almost every chapter. Thank you for your love!  
> emeraldsustrai, who interacted with my content to the point I decided to include Emerald as a last-minute addition. Thank you for being clear with your comments. It improved my work more than you can imagine.  
> And the rest of you who are reading this and I did not specifically point out! Without you guys, my work wouldn't be here!


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